Out of the Darkness
by redtrouble
Summary: The Kalach-Cha Cara Bayle just barely manages to escape from a crumbling sanctum with the help of someone she thought she would never see again.
1. Flight from the Sanctum

There was too much debris. Whole chunks of ceiling came crashing down around them, cutting off every attempt to flee. The Gith bow Cara had forged was knocked out of her hand as she stumbled across the Sanctum, trying desperately to get to her friends, but she was rerouted to the outer ring. A loud crack sounded overhead and she was knocked back into a side passage, cut off from everyone. She heard Casavir shouting her name and then the doorway collapsed and she heard only the rumble of a buckling ruin.

Cara scrambled to her feet and lunged further down the hallway as a large stone broke against the ground where she had been lying only seconds before. She stumbled down the dark corridor as the walls around her threatened to shake apart and the ground beneath her feet trembled violently. She ran blindly on, afraid to stop, hands groping the walls for direction. Her fingers brushed against wet moss and tangled in thick cobwebs as she followed the passage through several twists and turns. She yelped whenever a stone struck her and scrambled faster, crashing into walls and tripping over debris.

What about the others? Where were they? Had they gotten out? Where was this road taking her? Would it lead to freedom or would she be crushed under the ruin—or worse, buried alive? Panic filled her, fear overwhelmed her. To have come through so many trials, survived so many battles, only to die like this?

Something struck her shoulder, shoving her forward straight into a wall. Her head smacked against it and rebounded, disorienting her. Suddenly there was a strong arm around her waist, pulling her forward. She clung to this person, caught a whiff of a familiar scent. _Bishop?_ Her head was swimming—she couldn't think straight. She tried to focus on running but her feet weren't working and it was dark and—

A doorway came into view, and beyond it was the dark Mere. Chunks of stone rained down across the frame, piling up at the threshold, threatening to bury them alive. They were racing toward it, not slowing even a little bit. They would either be crushed or they would make it. She shut her eyes tight, threw the hand that wasn't clinging to her savior over her face, and took a deep breath.

They dove through a waterfall of rocks just as the exit collapsed, throwing them further from the ruin. They landed on a hard stretch of dirt with grunts and cries, and rolled. Her savior was immediately up and pulling her away from any flying debris, pulling her into the swamp. And then her back was against a gnarled black willow and she was looking at his face.

Bishop.

He was frowning, amber eyes gazing into hers with what oddly resembled concern. She could only stare in shock, a whirlwind of emotions battling her sense of logic, battling each other. She thought she would never see him again...

"It's you," she managed in her confusion.

"Yeah," was all he said. It was the short, curt response she was used to, the kind that almost gave nothing away. But she had had a lot of practice dissecting Bishop's words and inflections, and the way the word trailed off at the end, almost like a sigh, told her enough. This wasn't a rescue of convenience. He had come back for her, against all logic and sense of self-preservation. It was a decision based on emotion that he could only explain with a simple "yeah" because nothing about it made any sense to him.

His hand snaked along the side of her face, fingers dabbing at her temple. A sharp pain shot through her skull and she hissed. She saw blood on his fingertips as he leaned away from her, and she had the terrifying sense that he was about to leave her. She started after him but a debilitating sense of pain and nausea overwhelmed her. Her vision swirled and she staggered. A firm hand was suddenly on her shoulder, shoving her back against the tree.

"Are you stupid?" he hissed, and she clawed at his armored arm. "Stay put."

Cara's fingers groped for purchase on his bracer but she was too disoriented. He slipped out of her grasp and was gone. She could just make out his back as he moved deeper into the Mere but the world was so dark and hazy. Her head thunked back against the trunk and she cried out as a fresh shock of pain lit up behind her eyes. She shut them and tried to swallow. Her throat was dry and her tongue felt like a thick, swollen lump in her mouth. Had he left her? Was she going to die? Had her friends made it out?

Tears leaked out of her eyes. She blinked, gazing up at the tree canopy and the night sky above. She couldn't see any stars, only a mass of moss hanging from the trees like green beards. She couldn't hear anything anymore. The Mere was silent.

A hand on her arm surprised her. Bishop was frowning at her again. "Come on," he said, pulling her off the tree. For how harsh his tone was, his touch was gentle. He slipped her arm over his shoulder and carefully guided her to a small clearing. He lowered her onto a bed of peat and rested her back on a felled trunk. She could smell the wet rot and was reminded of home.

Bishop crouched in front of her and placed his healing kit between his feet. She tried to swallow again. He opened his waterskin and poured it over the wound. She hissed, squeezed her eyes shut, and bit down so hard that her teeth hurt. He handed her the waterskin when he was finished as he opened up the kit and withdrew some cloth pads. She took several deep breaths, trying to find a balance between the pain and her own disorientation. She kept her gaze focused on Bishop. He had that subtle look on his face, that hint of a smirk that told her he was impressed she hadn't screamed, before he began mopping up the water and blood along her temple.

Cara lifted the waterskin to her lips and drank deep, and water ran out of the corners of her mouth. She wiped her chin and swallowed. Her tongue still felt thick but her throat was wetter. She took another long drink that emptied the skin and gasped for air when it was finished. Bishop dropped a piece of cloth dark with blood into her lap then began fiddling with his herb pouch. As he chewed up pieces of plants infused with healing properties and dabbed at her wound, she took up the cloth and proceeded to wipe down the side of her face and neck where water and blood had run.

"Where's Karnwyr?" she asked.

"Around," he replied without meeting her gaze. Around, meaning the wolf had created a perimeter and was keeping watch for danger.

When he had finished applying the salve, Bishop spit a glob of green onto the peat and took a swig from the flask of whiskey he carried to burn the taste out of his mouth. He offered it to her but she shook her head. She knew it would help with the pain but she didn't want to lower her inhibitions even a little, not yet, not with him, not when she already felt woozy from the injury. He shrugged as if to say, "Suit yourself," and pulled out a large roll of gauze from the kit.

"You have too much hair," Bishop growled as he tried to wrap her head. He scooped a large chunk of her hair over to the side with that annoyed expression he always wore whenever she was involved. She knew he was annoyed because he actually loved her hair. He had never said it, but he had often tangled his fingers into it, wrapped his hands with its length, nuzzled his face in it and breathed in her scent. She reached up and did her best to hold it out of the way as he wound the gauze around her head. When he had tied it off, she let it drop. His eyebrow twitched as her hair tumbled around her face, and then he was packing up the kit, collecting his waterskin, and walking away from her again.

"Bishop—"

"Just rest," he barked, and disappeared into the fog.

Cara banged her fist against the peat and grunted in frustration. She was grateful he had come for her, grateful he had saved her, had cleaned and dressed her wound, had given her a drink of water. He owed it to her after betraying her, after abandoning her to fight Garius and the King of Shadows alone. She had understood his reasoning—his childish, complicated reasoning—and she had forgiven him for it, but that didn't ebb her anger.

And she was angry. She was furious! How could he? After everything they had been through, had shared—and he just left, left her to die, left her to die even as he was barking at her to "stay on the walls" so that she might survive what he had done. What a complicated, backwards man! She understood, though. She understood that Bishop was afraid of being bound to anyone and anything, and that he felt bound to her. It would have been a compliment if it didn't end with betrayal. Because he felt bound to her, he had to destroy her—a grim love confession. And she had thought Casavir's sword-swearing and talk of loyalty had been convoluted...

But Cara was angry for another reason. She was angry because she had been scared, so scared, sick with fear. She had been afraid that when she stood before Garius, Bishop would be there, and that she would be unable to reach him. She was afraid of having to raise her bow against him. Bishop was an amazing shot, fast and strong and precise, but so was she. What if his aim proved truer? Or worse...what if hers did? What if she had to pull her arrows out of his lifeless body?

Cara stomped the ground, grunting with every hit, as she tried to hammer the emotional pain out of her body. Everything about the situation hurt, the facts and the what-ifs, and every feeling behind them. And watching him walk away, watching his back as he disappeared from her life for what she believed would be forever...

She slumped against the rotting trunk, panting, and wondered where her friends were, if any of them were alive. And then she realized with sudden clarity that the King of Shadows was vanquished and she was released from all obligations. Her promotions and knighthood—all of it—no longer had any meaning. Everything she had set out to accomplish since leaving West Harbor had been accomplished. It was complete.

She was free.

Suddenly her head was swimming and her eyelids felt so heavy that she couldn't keep them open another second. When she opened them again, she was lying on a bedroll and a campfire was popping nearing her. She blinked slowly and lazily turned her head skyward. There were stars overhead. A breeze blew, rustling the leaves of the bald cypresses and white oak. She carefully sat up and was relieved when her head did not swoon like before. Her armor was gone, stacked nearby, and all she wore was her pants and a thin tunic.

There was suddenly a pair of boots in front of her. She looked up just as Bishop crouched down and handed her a waterskin. His expression was unreadable. She drank deeply as he watched her, guarded, passive, and did not take the skin when she offered it back to him. She waited as if on the edge of some great plunge, wondering if he would finally speak to her, if he would touch her like he once had, with an affectionate purpose. But he said nothing, moved not even an inch. When the silence was almost unbearable, she opened her mouth to speak.

"So you did it," he finally spoke. "You destroyed the King of Shadows. It's done." She nodded. "Everything is over. That's what that means. For you, for me, for all of us. Neverwinter will go back to the way it always was as if nothing ever happened, and you'll be hailed a hero for a year or two." He reached out to cup her cheeks in his palms, but his eyes and fingers probed the gauze around her head. She winced when he fingered bruised flesh. "They'll probably even let you keep it—Crossroad Keep."

"Did any of the others...?" She was surprised by how raspy her voice sounded. "Did they..." She was afraid to ask.

"Make it out?" he finished for her and she nodded. He stared into her eyes for a long time, lengthening the suspense. "Yeah," he finally answered. "They made it."

"A-all of them...?"

"All of them."

She sighed in relief. "Thank the gods..."

"The gods," he agreed sarcastically. "I'm sure they're thanking the gods right now as they shout your name and toss rubble in a vain attempt to dig out your corpse. Now you can surprise everyone with your miraculous return from death. I'm sure the paladin will be pleased."

"Bishop," she began but he wouldn't look at her. He dropped his hands, stood up, and moved away from her.

"I'll take you as far as the Keep, if that's where you want to go, or—"

"No," she said immediately. "I don't want to go back there."

He whirled to face her. "No?" he echoed calmly.

"I told you already, a lifetime ago...I never wanted their titles or that place..."

She remembered the day they gave her Crossroad Keep, how she had panicked and wanted nothing more than to run away from that responsibility. She had asked Bishop to take her away and he had, and they had three blissful days together in the woods before her guilt caught up with her. He had revealed that he had known her heart all along, and that he had guided her in circles. They had never even left her property. It was both a relief and a heartbreak.

"Poor paladin—"

"I never wanted him either," she interrupted him, and she saw the pleasure flash across his face even as he tried to suppress it.

"Then what do you want?"

She smiled sheepishly. "To camp out for a year or two..."

Something lit up behind his eyes, something primal, but he stood still as stone. "And then?"

"I don't know." She shrugged helplessly. "All I ever wanted to do was go home. I wanted to go to Neverwinter, get rid of those dumb shards, and go home. And everything I did, I did thinking that it would lead me back to West Harbor." She hung her head. "But home's gone, and even if it wasn't..." She let the thought hang. She could never go back home. "I don't have a purpose," she mumbled. "I don't even have a bow..."

"Sounds to me like you're feeling sorry for yourself," he spat. She glared at him.

"No."

"Poor Knight-Captain doesn't want to be a hero but needs everyone to need her anyway."

"Damn you, Bishop! That's not what I'm saying." She jumped to her feet and winced when her head protested with a jolt of pain. "I'm telling you I'm free! No more tasks, no more obligations. I'm free and I don't know what to do or where to go," she took a deep breath, "or if you'll let me tag along."

"Is that what you want?"

Yes. She always said yes to him, every time but one—and that was the day he betrayed her. "Why did you come back?" she asked instead.

He studied her, as though debating answering or demanding she answer first. Finally, he looked away and said, "I never left," he growled. "Garius...I knew you could kill him. And he deserved it. But the King of Shadows?" He frowned. "Well, that was something else." He inhaled sharply through his nostrils. "Turns out, the idea of you being dead doesn't sit well with me. So I scouted out an exit then I came back." He glanced at her, his gaze sharp, daring. "It's not like I was getting out of the Mere while he lived. I figured helping you out would serve me in the end. But you didn't need my help, after all."

"It would have helped—"

"But you didn't need it."

"No, I didn't need it!" she snapped. "So you can stop feeling sorry for yourself." He glared at her. "Poor ranger loathes the needy but wants to be needed."

"Watch it!" he growled.

"Why? Because it's true? But I _do_ need you! I'd be buried under a pile of rubble right now if you hadn't come back, and I'd be damn near close to death if you hadn't tended my wound—and that's just today. All those months with you at my back, there were many times I can say I'm only standing here because of you."

"So the great Shard-bearer needs a babysitter. Not interested."

"Oh, and what _would_ interest you, Bishop? If I tell you that my heart needs you, too—that I can't possibly live without you? Well I can, and so can you, but," she hesitated only a second, "but I want you, Bishop. I want you so much." She took several breathes, afraid to ask her next question. "Do you still want me?"

His jaw tightened angrily. "You know I do."

"I don't know that."

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" he asked as he started toward her. "I tried to get you to leave with me. If you had just said yes, I—"

"You what? You would've forgotten I was Duncan's niece?" she exclaimed, stopping him in his tracks. "If you hadn't separated 'Cara Bayle' from 'Duncan's niece' by the time you asked that question, you were never going to—even if I'd said yes." He narrowed his eyes and she knew she had hit the target. "And whether you saw me as Cara or not," she whispered, "by the time you asked that question, you had already betrayed me."

His jaw tensed. "You said you forgave me."

"I do," she confirmed. "But do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Forgive yourself?"

He looked at her like he wanted to retort but couldn't so he just glared, wondering. She knew he was probably thinking about Crossroad Keep and the broken gate, about leaving her there to die, about standing across from her beside Garius... But that was not what she was thinking of.

When he had finally confessed to her what he had done at Redfallow's Watch and how he had become indebted to her uncle, the mystery of Bishop had finally unraveled. He didn't hate her uncle at all. He hated himself. Her uncle was just the focus of that hatred, like a talisman, because Duncan had been the witness, had been the savior, had kept him alive to suffer more. And Bishop was tired of suffering... She heard the regret in his voice when he said he tried to warn the villagers, tried to make them leave, and the pain in his voice when he said that they refused. He called them fools, said they deserved it, but that was because he couldn't handle the truth. It was too painful. That pain manifested as anger, anger that he unleashed on everyone at every turn, unprompted and unprovoked, the kind of pain so great that it boils over like water in a pot.

It was the key to everything, his hatred of her uncle, his decision to hurt him by betraying her, his need to view her as an obligation and then rid himself of it. She could help him if he would let her, but would he?

"What are expecting to hear?" he finally asked. "That I regret what I did? That I made a mistake betraying you? I knew before I did it. It wasn't something I wanted to do—I _had_ to do it."

Cara shrugged helplessly. "And I'm still here...your obligation."

"It's not like that—not anymore."

"Why? Why is it different now?"

"Because," his jaw clenched for a moment, "I chose this."

She remembered his words in the sanctum— _I thought it would be as easy to hate you as I did Duncan, but I don't...at all._ He didn't do it because he wanted to; he did it because he thought he had to. Because if he didn't, he'd have to tell her what he'd done at Redfallow's and face her judgment...just like he faced Malin's when he brutally murdered the Luskans. Malin didn't know the whole story, but what she saw was enough to scare her away. He probably expected Cara to react the same way. _She never knew me, and neither will you,_ is what he had told her when she asked, so putting himself at the end of her blade was nothing more than a safety net for his emotions. If she hated him after learning the truth, it didn't matter because she already hated him, was already going to kill him.

"Do you forgive yourself?" she asked again.

"What?" he snarled, surprised. "Why? What does it matter? I regret it. Isn't that enough? If you think I don't feel worthy of you, it doesn't matter, because it won't stop me from having my chance with you."

For some reason, she thought of Malin, when she told the ranger that she trusted Bishop. _You don't get it. By saying that, he's already got you...until he's finished with you._ Malin was right about one thing: he had her. But she also had him. It was why he came back.

"That's not what I think."

"Then why are you asking me?"

She opened her mouth, almost asked him about Redfallow's Watch, but decided against it. He wasn't ready for that conversation. "Because you...did what you did," she told him, "against your own desires. If there's anything you're holding onto, I need to know you're going to try to let it go."

Bishop tilted his head ever so slightly, like an animal studying something it doesn't understand. "You want to make sure I won't betray you again."

"I'm not asking for promises or guarantees."

"Then what _are_ you asking? Spit it out, woman."

"What do you see happening between us, Bishop? What is it that you want from me?"

He stared at her for a long moment, totally unreadable. "I don't know," he finally said.

"What did you want from Malin?" she asked, and he looked at her like she had grown a second head. "Come on, I'm not stupid. You traveled with a beautiful woman for many moons, the two of you alone in the woods—you used that line on me before you barely knew me."

He inhaled a deep breath through his nostrils. "She really was just a scout," he explained, gave a small shrug, and added, "who warmed my bedroll—company for a long trip. That was all I wanted from her, and she was no different. We were using each other, until she got soft."

"And is that what you want from me?" Cara tracked his expression, waited for him to give something away but he didn't, just looked at her. "Whatever your answer, I'll accept it. Just tell me honestly. Do you just want me to share your bedroll, company for a long trip?"

"Of course, I want you in my bedroll," he snapped, "but it's more than that..." He suddenly seemed uncomfortable. "I can't put a name to it. Obsession? I thought of you all the time—your face, your voice, your laugh. I don't remember how it went from trying to hurt Duncan to fantasies of you. I just knew I wanted to be near you, even if I had to keep my distance." He grimaced. "And I still do."

Cara's heart was beating wildly. "Do you love me?"

He almost rolled his eyes. "Call it love, if that's what you want to hear."

" _You_ call it love," she hissed, "if that's what it is."

Bishop's jaw tensed several times before he said, "Yeah, fine. I love you. But don't expect any flowery words or romance—if that's what you're after, you're better off with the paladin. I won't marry you and I won't give you any squealing whelps. I'm not that kind of man. I won't make you any promises, don't ask me to."

She almost smiled but caught herself. He wouldn't make any promises, which meant 'no marriage' and 'no children' were not a promise. She didn't know if she wanted either of those things with Bishop, but maybe, if someday she did, there was still hope.

"So what _do_ you want?" she asked again.

"I want those three days we spent in the woods," he answered gruffly as he slowly closed the distance between them, "but for more than just three days."

"How long?" she whispered.

"Long." He cupped her cheeks, drew her face to his, and kissed her so quickly that she winced in surprise. Her fingers folded into his sleeves as she melted into his kiss. He wrapped his arms around her, palms flat on her back, and held her tightly against him.

Bishop was good kisser, a good lover, and it was easy to lose herself in his affections, but there was still something she had to say. With the last ounce of clarity that she possessed, she pressed the heels of her palms into his armored shoulders and pushed far enough away to break their kiss. They both gasped for breath, and he was frowning as he gazed at her mouth.

"I'm still Duncan's niece," she reminded him.

"I don't care," he growled, wrapping his fingers around the back of her neck and forcing her back against his mouth. His kisses were open and deep, like he was claiming her, devouring her. She surrendered, returned his passion with equal fervor until the pressing need of the moment passed and he released her lips. "So you'll go with me?" he asked cautiously, hope and fear in his voice.

"Yes."

"How far?"

"As far as you'll take me."

"And you're alright with possibly never seeing them again? Not your uncle or those idiots who tagged along with you...or your father?" Bishop's eyes were almost sympathetic. "You're alright with them believing you're dead?"

The thought of any of them in mourning upset her. She didn't want to say yes, because deep down she wished she could see them again. But if they knew she was alive, it would only complicate matters. She couldn't stop her eyes from tearing up so she nodded vigorously in an attempt to hide it.

"Yes," she replied, "I'm okay with that."

He wiped the corner of one of her eyes. "Then why are you crying?"

"He wasn't a perfect father," Cara murmured, "but he was mine. I hate the thought of him not knowing...looking for me..." She pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. When the tremor of emotion had passed, she said, "He always found me. It didn't matter where I went or how I lost myself, he always found me. And this time he won't." Her voice hitched and a few more tears slipped out of her eyes. Bishop gently brushed them away with his thumbs, cradling her cheeks in his palms, his face so close that she could see nothing but him. "What if he never stops looking?" Her fingers curled against his armor as a more painful thought entered her mind. "What if he does...?"

"Then maybe you should go to him."

She clutched at him and shook her head. "No. I won't give you up."

"Who said anything about that?" he asked, frowning. She met his gaze, wide-eyed in surprise. "When we leave, I don't want you to think about anyone but me. So, no regrets."

Cara felt like her heart might burst. "I can see him," she said. His grin was small and lopsided, almost a smirk, but there were no cruel lines around his eyes. "Thank you..."

He didn't acknowledge her thanks, just gently removed her hands from his armor. He gave them a light squeeze before releasing her and moving away. "Before I forget," he began, crouching by his bundle of equipment. He suddenly tossed something at her. "You'll want this back."

She reached out and caught it, her fingers curling around her old bow. She gasped, admiring the familiar piece of wood. Her fingers and palm slid along the smooth surface, tracing the recurve shape. "How did you—?"

"When you forged the Sword of Gith, and that sword took the form of a bow, you put your old one down. Guess you figured you didn't need it to kill the King of Shadows... I picked it up, brought it with me. Maybe out of sentiment...maybe because I figured you'd need it again one day."

She clutched it to her chest. "I'm glad you did..." she said as she returned to the bedroll she'd woken on.

"How's your head?" he asked as he stoked the fire.

"I can travel if there's a need," she answered, so happy that she didn't even feel the pain. She sat down and laid the bow on the ground beside her.

"Good," he said, and that feral glint returned to his eyes as he gazed at her across the fire. "Because I only have one bedroll..."

She almost smiled. "No one to sneak up on us?"

He shook his head. "Not for a day, at least, and by then we'll be long gone. For now, at least...I have you all to myself."

Cara bit her lip in anticipation, her stomach doing flips, as he crossed over to her. He kept his eyes locked on hers as he stripped his armor then lowered himself on top of her. One hand immediately went to the laces of her tunic while the other drew her face toward his. His lips connected with hers. She wrapped her arms around him and submitted to his love.

"Bishop," she whispered against his mouth when he had undressed them. He withdrew far enough to look into her eyes, that sharp gaze demanding her to spit it out, too impatient for questions. "I love you."

Bishop didn't say anything, but the sudden look he gave her assured her that her words were not spoken needlessly. What she said meant something to him, and she felt it in the intensity of his kiss, of his love-making. Cara didn't know exactly why she loved him, just that she did...that even after everything he had done to wrong her, she couldn't help but feel that Bishop was worthy of love.


	2. Reunion in the Mere

When they left camp, Bishop covered their tracks to all but expert eyes. Three days later, he was crouched by a rock in a small clearing, concealing the remnants of a fake campsite when Karnwyr howled in the distance. Bishop paused, waiting, listening. There was the faint brush of leaves before he heard the bow pulled taut. He grinned.

"Oh, you are good," Bishop said, glancing over his shoulder. Daeghun stood grim-faced by a tree, an arrow notched. "I thought it would take you at least one more day to catch me."

"You've been sloppy, ranger."

"And if I hadn't been, you would've never found me." Bishop stood up and slowly turned to face the elf. "What did you come for? Revenge?"

"I came for news of my daughter," he stated matter-of-fact. "There were two sets of boots that left the sanctum. I know my daughter's tracks. I found where she sat against the log, and followed your trail. You scouted the entrance to the ruins then doubled back to where she lay. I followed you deep into the Mere to a campsite. Your tracks were deeper—you were carrying a great weight. I found evidence of her at your camp, and then nothing—nothing but your tracks for days."

Bishop eyed the stony elf, tilted his head in assessment as he teased out the emotions in the man's eyes and voice. It was like reading a brick wall—gray and cold. "So, what? You think I hurt her, is that it?"

"They told me what you did, ranger. I find no trouble believing you saw an opportunity and took it."

Bishop grunted. He didn't know Daeghun, only the stories Cara had told, and he had no reason to expect professional respect between them after everything that had happened, but it irritated him to have the man Cara call father judge him so assuredly.

"So you're here for justice? You're a little light on reinforcements, which means you don't intend to bring me in."

"No," Daeghun agreed, "I don't." Bishop grinned. It pleased him to know they had that much in common. "What have you done with my daughter?"

"I'll show you."

Bishop waited for Daeghun to lower his bow. When he did, he kept the arrow notched and his fingers on the bowstring. Bishop led him one league north to another clearing. He heard her before he saw her and knew Daeghun had heard, too. He pulled the string several inches, readying for a betrayal. Bishop snorted and pushed into the clearing ahead of him.

Cara's eyes lit up when she saw him, a smile spreading across her face. He wanted to smile back at her—he loved her smile, it did something to him, something light and warm—but he didn't. She was about to be reunited with her father...for probably the last time. He didn't want to take away from the moment.

"I thought I heard you coming," she said, an arrow shaft between her fingers. She had been refletching the arrows he'd spent hunting. "How did it—" She stopped and stared over his shoulder, mouth dropping open. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Daeghun emerging from the brush, bowstring slack and his face warped with more emotion than Bishop believed him capable of. "Father..."

"Cara." It was not a question. It was a statement laced with shock. "I feared you were dead."

She immediately stood up and crossed to him. There was an awkward pause as they both hesitated, and then they hugged. Bishop folded his arms across his chest and relaxed back against the nearest tree, watching. They didn't speak at all, just held one another. When they finally parted, Daeghun touched the bandage wrapped around her head.

"You were wounded," he said.

"I'm better now," she assured him.

Daeghun suddenly looked at Bishop. "You saved her." The surprise in his tone would have been considered subtle coming from anyone else. The elf looked around, studied the campsite. Bishop watched his eyes fall on the single bedroll, Cara's bow, the arrows and fletching, the snake roasting on a spit—saw how he quickly came to the conclusion that Cara was not only with him willingly, but she was _with_ him. "You are leaving," he surmised, "with _him_. Why?"

Cara glanced back at him and he inwardly flinched under her steady gaze. "Because," she said, "I love him." And those three words made his chest tighten.

"But he betrayed you."

"He did, but I forgave him. Father..." She took his free hand in hers. "I—"

"—was not meant for castles and titles," he finished for her. She smiled and nodded. "Knight-Captain suited you ill. You rarely smiled. It was one of my few joys since I lost Sheila—your smile."

Bishop watched Cara's lips purse as she held in the sudden swell of emotion. Daeghun's words were spoken so simply, so dry, but the meaning wasn't lost on him. And more to the point, he agreed, both that she had smiled too rarely with a title and that he missed her smiles.

Her days in Crossroad Keep had been largely filled with frowns, the stress of knighthood and the responsibility of captain weighted heavily on her. There were times when he saw the old Cara emerge, the Cara from a time before Shandra had died—when she was with laughing with Khelgar or Neeshka, when she was singing with Grobnar, when she was with him... He had wanted to take her away, remind her what it was like to be her before Nasher had dug his claws in her...but she had come to him first, bag packed, and he had wanted her so badly that it was physically painful to hold back. The memory still made him hungry for her.

"Thank you," Daeghun said to him, pulling him out of his thoughts, "for saving her, and for bringing us together again." Bishop nodded once, uncomfortable with the sudden sincerity. The elf looked at his daughter again. "You have accomplished much in a short time, grown in strength, with wisdom beyond your years. I am proud of you."

"Thank you, Father," she whispered, pearls of tears on her lashes.

"Will I ever see you again?"

Cara's right brow indented, her expression of uncertainty. "I don't know," she admitted. "I hope so."

Daeghun nodded. "This is your choice to make. I do not understand it, but if you are happy, that is enough." He gently touched her cheek. "Walk with me one last time."

Cara nodded, retrieved her bow and a quiver of arrows, and followed her father into the Mere. Bishop didn't try to stop them. He stood leaning against the tree for many minutes, wondering what they would talk about, wondering if she would come back. He wouldn't blame her if she didn't. He pushed off the tree and paced the campsite, then turned the spit and threw another log onto the fire. Karnwyr padded quietly into the site, sniffed out every new scent, particular where Daeghun had been, and then laid down to sleep. Bishop sat where Cara had been sitting and finished fletching the arrows. He took a sip of water from his skin and, on a whim, decided to refill them.

It was an hour's walk to the river and back, and the sun was getting on in the sky by the time he returned. Karnwyr lifted his head as he approached, yawned, and then put his head back down. No sign of Cara. He dropped the skins next to his pack and cut open the snake to see if it was ready to eat. Just when he started thinking she really might not come back, Karnwyr lifted his head, looking out into the Mere. Bishop held his breath until she came into view. Her smile seemed lighter than it had before.

"Well?" he asked.

"He told me about my mother," she said, "and their adventures. He told me about the day she showed up in West Harbor, big with child, and the months leading up to the war." She sat down next to him and his blood quickened with the brush of her knee against his, the heat that radiated off of her, the smell of the Mere and the campfire and something distinctly her. "I asked him not to tell the others that he found us, or any evidence we survived—all but Bevil. He wouldn't understand."

He narrowed his gaze on her, not liking the idea of her sparing the farm boy's feelings. "You want him to know you're alive?" he asked, almost accusatory. His jealousy at every man in her life was not something he could control, even knowing she chose him.

"Not exactly. I think Daeghun can ease his mind... If he thinks there is a possibility that I am alive somewhere and happy, he'll be content to live his own life."

His gaze drifted over her mouth. "And are you...?" he murmured. This time her smile was small but still full of meaning. Her right brow quirked ever so slightly. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Good," she said, and her coy expression made him want to kiss her. "So now where to, ranger?"

"There are a few places around Neverwinter Wood I think you might like to see."

"Don't you think that's dangerous?"

"It would be...if you were traveling with anyone else. No one knows those woods better than I do."

"So, we just travel from wood to wood, hunting and camping, possibly guard a caravan through a particularly tough pass or scout a border for a wary militia or—" she glanced skyward and shrugged as she grasped for another idea "—I don't know, clear out some ruins of undesirables for some unprepared scholars?"

"Getting cold feet already?"

"Are you kidding me? I can't wait."

He couldn't stop himself from smiling. It was rare that he was unable to do so, but he figured she had earned that much from him, and the way her gaze softened and her smile widened as a result was intoxicating. He inhaled sharply when she kissed him and his hands immediately went to her cheeks and neck, fingers tangling in her hair.

In all of his life, he had never had a single dream come true. His childish aspirations had been dashed at an early age, and eventually he stopped dreaming. The disappointment was more than he could take. Until he met her... When he had slyly suggested they run away together to avoid the trial, he'd done so because it was something he couldn't stop himself from thinking about, and he never actually thought she'd say yes.

But she did...and when she did, it became more than a thought…it became a fantasy he entertained every night and day that finally took form when she asked him to take her away from Crossroad Keep and the burden of being named Knight-Captain. Those three days had given birth to a dream that, one day, the nightmare would be over...and they would run away together, just the two of them. And if it could come true, he would forget everything else, every wrong and every bad thing he had done or someone had done to him. And that was why he had to destroy her. Because his dreams did not come true...

Cara suddenly shifted into his lap, legs straddling his waist, and he held her tightly against him. His mouth moved in concert with hers, hands roaming over her backside and thighs. The loving expression on her face when she said, "I forgive you," in that ruined sanctum, even when she thought he would still raise his bow against her, flashed in his mind and he squeezed her thigh, pulling her tighter against him.

For the first time in his life, his dream had come true.


	3. A Stop at the Sunken Flagon

Duncan Farlong sighed at his bar as he ran a rag over a puddle of beer then grabbed the finished plate nearby and dumped the mangle of chicken bones into the trash. His hired help wasn't as savvy as Sal had been, and was spilling more brew than the patrons did in their drunken cheers.

A hand rough with scars and burns rapped on the counter twice then dropped five copper pieces that clanged and jingled on the wood. Duncan reached under the bar, withdrew a clean mug, dipped it into the ale barrel, and set it in front of the stranger. The stranger tipped the beer up while Duncan grumbled under his breath and finished wiping down the counter. He turned toward the kitchen. A mug slammed down on the bar.

"Still serving that swill, Duncan?" a low, gruff voice asked, and Duncan's blood ran cold.

He whirled around just in time to see the stranger, no more than a dark cloak, slip between two groups. "Bishop?" he muttered, narrowing his gaze. The figure was moving toward the door and there were too many people in the way for him to tell just who the stranger was. He threw the rag on the counter with a loud smack and quickly shuffled around the bar.

By the time he got halfway across the room, the door was swinging open and the stranger darted out. He ran after him, out the door and to the right towards the alley. The dark shape moved into the shadows and headed toward the gate. Duncan went after him, heart racing. He barely noticed the cold of winter.

It was madness. Bishop was dead, he was certain of it. It had been six months since Nasher had returned and announced the threat of the King of Shadows had ended, but that the Knight-Captain had perished in the battle. He couldn't believe it. Refused to believe it. He'd sent word to Daeghun, begging for the truth, but his brother never wrote back. He even went to Crossroad Keep, but even her closest friends had the same, sad report. She was dead, and the traitor died with her. Bishop. He was devastated... That she had died, it crushed him, but that the man he had sent with her in the first place had had a hand in that death—he felt responsible.

He was insane to be running into the shadows after some strange, dark-cloaked figure. Just because he sounded like the ranger...just because the tiny glimpse of the face under the hood resembled him... Duncan knew he was probably going to get robbed and gutted, and maybe he deserved it for sending that madman along with her, but he had to know!

Duncan rounded the corner into the alley and stopped suddenly. His eyes grew wide in shock. There she was, skin pale in the moonlight and her long, auburn hair black in the shadows, wrapped up in a sable fur cloak. He felt tears spring into his eyes, even as he was wondering if he wasn't imagining it.

"Cara?" he finally asked. "Yer alive?"

"Hey, Uncle Duncan." She smiled playfully. "Think you can keep a secret for the first time in your life?"

Tears fell out of his eyes as he reached out and hooked an arm around her neck. "C'mere, girl," he choked out, and he hugged her tightly, holding her head firmly against his cheek. He buried his face in her hair and rocked side-to-side. "I thought ye were dead."

She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. "I'm sorry, Uncle," she whispered. "I wanted everyone to believe that, but not you. We had to wait until things calmed down before we could risk coming back here."

Duncan looked up and saw Bishop leaning against the back of the Flagon, arms folded across his chest, and a suspiciously neutral expression on his face. He didn't understand why he was with her or what had happened, but at the moment, it didn't matter. He closed his eyes and tightened his arms around his niece.

"I prayed, y'know," he whispered into her hair. "I haven't prayed in years, but I prayed ye'd make it outta there. I didn't believe Nasher's speech, didn't believe any of 'em 'til Khelgar looked me in the eye and nodded." He took her by the shoulders and held her far enough away to look into her eyes. "Does Daeghun know?"

She nodded. "He does. I said my goodbyes just days after the battle."

"Typical," he snarled. "Bastard didn't tell me a thing, let me twist in the unknown."

Cara gave him that gentle, reproachful look. "He didn't think it would be wise to send word."

Duncan muttered, "He could'a told me himself, 'stead of lettin' me believe ye were dead." He hugged her again, just to make sure she was real, then swiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "How'd ye make it out there? And what's he doing here?" He nodded to Bishop. "Last I heard, he wasn't on your side anymore."

"I made it out because he came back for me," she told him. "I'm only alive because Bishop was there."

His chest constricted painfully as he absorbed the information. "Ye mean...yer sayin'…"—the words felt stuck in his throat—"I didn't send ye off with a villain?"

Bishop laughed—actually laughed—a throaty bark and Cara chuckled softly, eyes sparkling.

"Well...maybe," she said, still smiling, "but I have to thank you for it."

Duncan touched her cold cheek. "Aah, look at ye. I haven't seen ye so happy since—" _Since before Shandra died_ , he thought but didn't voice it. "And if yer with him, that must mean—" He didn't finish that thought either. "But your freezin'. Why don't ye come inside? Have a bite to eat and warm up by the fire. Yer old room's just as ye left it—never had the heart to rent it out."

Cara shook her head. "We can't risk it. If anyone knew we were alive, they'd string Bishop up for war crimes and I'd be honor-bound to heel at Nasher's boots—if they didn't charge me with desertion first." She snorted like it was a joke. "We're heading south, towards Waterdeep and on to Baldur's Gate."

He nodded and, for the first time, was suddenly acutely aware of the cold. His breath came in visible puffs as he studied his niece. "In a few years, they'll forget all about ye...so ye'd better come back and visit, understand?" She just smiled. Duncan nodded, knowing he wasn't getting any promises out of her. "Well, gimme a hug," he said and wrapped his arms around her for what might be the last time.

"Haven't you hugged her enough?" Bishop asked.

"Oh, quit yer whinin', ranger. Ye'll have her all to yerself soon enough." He saw Bishop roll his eyes, but there was a grin on his lips as well. Duncan sighed and focused his attention back on his niece. "Ye make me proud, love," he whispered. "I wish ye all the happiness in the world."

"I love you, Uncle," she whispered back and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for everything."

He nodded as he withdrew. Cara gave him one last smile as she drew her hood over her head and turned away. Bishop's eyes fell on Duncan.

"Take care of her, Bishop," he said. The ranger scoffed.

"I don't need you to tell me that." He pushed off the wall and pulled his hood over his head. "See you around, Duncan..."

Duncan smiled as the two disappeared into the night. "I'll hold ye to that," he said into the darkness, and then vigorously began rubbing his arms. He stomped back toward the door, arms wrapped around himself and shivering. "It's too damn cold," he grumbled to himself, but even that couldn't wipe the smile from his face.


End file.
